


no more talk

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Crushes, Fade to Black, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Puberty, again fairly suggestive but not much worthy of more than a t rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 19:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20069050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: It doesn’t take Ignis long to decide that he was truly, maddeningly in love and lust with the rough touch of Gladio’s days old stubble and the barely there, uncertain slide of his hands.





	no more talk

It doesn’t take Ignis long to decide that he was truly, maddeningly in love and lust with the rough touch of Gladio’s days old stubble and the barely there, uncertain slide of his hands.

There was a tightness to Ignis’ skin. A thrum that could not be ignored was rising to the surface, and Gladio sighed against his cheek. Lips brushed his jawline. Hands rest on Ignis’ bare biceps. The heat of him sinking through the thin fabric of his plain black t-shirt shirt was scalding. Hot breath make Ignis shudder, every part of him thrilled by the unfamiliar warmth of another pressed intimately against him, sparking a raging flame in his chest and belly. That make it possible to ignore the awkward ache in his left shoulder from his inconsiderate position, his body weight too much. Laying out like so with Gladio was foolish – lazy and unfitting of boys their age, their station, but he no longer cared.

Little mattered to Ignis outside of _this. _There were a dozen little worries that gnawed at each of his frayed edges but Gladio’s mouth stole each away. Gods, Ignis still wore his godsdamned shoes in bed. Noctis’ bed, at that. This was an ugly disservice to the family and the friend that he served. A dishonour, a reason to have Ignis thrown from the Citadel, but Gladio’s bristled hair scraped against his bare cheek. Soft, well moisturized lips teased the corner of his mouth. His breath stank of beer – on anyone else it might have been disgusting. Frankly it was still unappealing, conjuring images of the brawling kingsglaive celebrating the only way they seemed to know how, but Ignis knew his own was the very same. He could taste the alcohol that Gladio had absolutely not lifted from the kitchens on his tongue, as well as Gladio’s, and Ignis supposed he didn’t mind as much when Gladio kept kissing him.

Here, Ignis was utterly helpless. Shame and any pretence at decorum had fled long ago. Craning his head up, desperate for more he sighed, reaching to thread his hand through Gladio’s loose, wild hair. Stretching in the mess of the sheets he ignored the crinkling packets of sweets and the uncomfortable feeling of crumb, as unpermitted food was in Noctis’ bed, he impatiently claimed Gladio’s lips again.

Every inch of him was warm. Ignis had known the sweltering sun and still no heat that touched him deeper. Gladio always ran delightfully hot through his few layers and his mouth was no exception. Ignis pressed flat against him, lips aligning far from perfectly. But Gladio’s hair was surprisingly soft to the touch, his satisfied smile playful, and the way Gladio kissed him back was all that mattered. Big hands grasped tighter at his arms. Their broad noses nudged together, clumsy teeth colliding with sharp pains that made them wince. But Ignis focused only on the slide. It was all too easy to fade out of the pain in his arm. Nagging thoughts of Noctis and Prompto merely a room away, sleeping off their own alcohol, birthday boy gift wrapping at their feet and confetti in Prompto’s hair, urged him to get up lest the be caught. Shield and advisor could not, must not. Friends did not crawl into another’s bed to rest heavy eyes, banish alcohol induced headaches and the awful pit of lust only to wind up kissing. In his skull Ignis’ brain pulsed, dull aches behind his closed eyes. He groped for clarity, for peace, and held on tight to whatever Gladio brought him. Fingers knotted firmly in Gladio’s hair, and Ignis moaned very softly against hi parted lips. Mere minutes before this exhilaration Ignis had anxiously thought of crushing a mint between his molars, reapplying a thin layer of chapstick. In his vaguely inebriated state he hadn’t and shared the very last slice of meat feast with Noctis. But Gladio seemed not to mind all that much or even notice, especially when his tongue swept across his lower lip, seemingly unconcerned at Ignis’ dry lips. The way Ignis clutched him seem to inspire the same way Gladio’s eyes inspired Ignis to need. Gladio still pressed forward, closer and closer, grabbing Ignis by the waist and slipping his tongue into Ignis’ soft mouth.

It was a foreign feeling. Ignis had kissed a few before – carefully, uncertainly. Ignis had been kissed in turn with all the enthusiasm boys his age could muster. Each was treasured and Ignis gave those boys his all, even if the were quiet, simple dalliances never to be spoken of again. That strange, feather light feeling in his chest only fuelled him. While Ignis’ heart took chances skipping vital beats he laced their hands together. Sometimes he suckered anxious red marks against their skin. One particularly eager boy accidentally bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and apologised profusely, making up the pain with soft kisses to his cheek and chin, drawing Ignis in within their confinements in the oldest, most hidden corner in the depths of the Citadel. They, they had laughed.

When Ignis parted his lips eagerly here Gladio laughed too, low and smooth, charming and calm in every way that had attracted Ignis to him in the first place.

He drew away too soon. Ignis couldn’t help but try to chase him, craning up for their mouths to messily meet once more. Pulling on Gladios’ hair firmer than he intended he laved Gladio with attention, desperate for him. He swallowed his inexperience, casting his nerves aside – his friend would not judge him. There was too much trust, and not even the intensity of longing would scratch at that foundation. Ignis kissed him as hard as he could, clumsy like it was his first time all over again, and he made no attempt to release him until their lungs could no longer take the scratching lack of oxygen.

They both panted. Refusing still to truly release him Ignis rest his forehead against Gladio’s, close enough to see every fleck of gold in his eyes, each of his pores. There was a ruddiness to his cheeks that Ignis knew he matched. Recovering far too slowly, all Ignis could bear to do was bask in him. Plump lips were swollen and damp, those damned eyes locked onto Ignis’ own mouth, and Gladio swept his tongue across his lips as if saving Ignis’ sour taste. His guts clenched at the thoughts.

While Gladio could finally meet his eyes, their hearts still thundered. It seemed like that rush would never stop. A huff of laughter escaped him, and he bore very straight, surprisingly sharp teeth when he grinned.

“Iggy,” he said low enough to serve as a purr. “Colour me surprised. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

_What’s that supposed to mean, _Ignis thought, and almost demanded. But then Gladio was pulling him back in crushingly tight, leaning in with hunger in every inch of him, and it was all Ignis could do to hold on.

Gladio’s hands were determined. One slid a few bold inches inside the stark lines of his hip. Palms rough, fingertips pressing into the softness of his skin, Gladio rumbled. Those teeth nipped pointedly at Ignis’ lips, catching and dragging as Gladio pulled away and Ignis made a desperate sound – a groan or a whine, lost somewhere between the confounding two.

Fuelled by all of it – the strangled desire and the bite of frustration, _didn’t think you had it in you, my arse _– he sat up sharply. The dead weight of his arm followed and Ignis prayed Gladio would not notice – it was to feel confident, to feel alluring with one aimless limb. To distract he pushed Gladio firmly down and flat on his back with the other. Swinging his leg over he hoovered over the Shield in waiting, basking in the surprise written all over his newly red face. Ignis perched as boldly in Gladio’s lap he dared – while his own jeans felt tighter, they were not uncomfortably so, and he wondered if Gladio was so far adrift on the wild waters of arousal – or even further, ready to thunder down the waterfall.

He felt a touch ridiculous in his shoes. It was difficult to truly recall the mess of the evening, but he was sure he had lost his favourite jacket in the wilderness of the apartment hours ago. Prompto had poked a little fun when Ignis’ carefully formed hair was finally let down, had laughed when he dared to bare his arms in a short-sleeved shirt. The apartment had been stifling. The way Gladio undid each of his buttons as he shrugged out of his shirt to expose his flat stomach, his thickening muscles, made Ignis overheat in a matter of heartbeats. It was easy to forget how tongue tied he could become, how clumsily he moved when the attraction was pooling hot in his belly.

His arm was coming back to life. Blood pulsed and roared in his ears. But it tingled uncomfortably, a vague distraction no matter how hard Ignis tried to ignore it. Leaning forward, steadying his hands on either side of Gladio’s broad shoulders, he stared.

It was remarkable to see a man like Gladio pulled apart – because of him, no less. While his hair was still shorter than Ignis’, sides buzzed close to his skull, parts were long enough to be untamed. With the sides slowly growing and his facial hair scruffy, lips red and his dark skin a blessing amongst pale, silky sheets, he was delectable.

Ignis’ mind had been working double time. It hunted for some clever comeback. Two potential bits of wit were warm on the backburner, sharp, but playfully so. But then Gladio’s dusk eyes darkened to the dead of night, hands slipping up to cup his waist, fingers daring, and the pettiness of jibes and the meaning of dominance was suddenly lost to him.

“No more talk,” Ignis intended to say firmly, with an air of finality, but it emerged breathless and he finally let the hunger of his mouth and body speak.

**Author's Note:**

> written in a dreadful panic to make sure I won camp nanowrimo so i'm sorry


End file.
